Wabibito
by Frost Deejn
Summary: He should have guessed Astrid would be the first to welcome him back.


_Wabibito_

Disclaimer: I don't own _Fringe_. But considering those who do have pretty much declared the first three seasons non-canon, I think a little fanfiction is forgivable.

Author's note: The title of this story is a word from Japanese poetry; it means a forlorn person.

Henjo, Kokinshu 292:

there is no shelter  
>here beneath these trees where one<br>who fled the world has  
>finally made his way the<br>leaves of autumn have fallen

The name of the bar was Dashwood. It was a nice place—quiet and clean but unpretentious. It was a place Peter used to come, at least in his memory, with Olivia. It hurt to be here, but he wasn't going to leave.

He was being watched, he was sure. This was the first time Broyles had agreed to let him leave on his own—with money, no less, thanks to Broyles' decision to treat him as a consultant instead of just an unofficial prisoner, and a drivers license helpfully furnished by the FBI. But of course Broyles' wasn't going to take the risk that he'd make a run for it.

Peter was starting to wish he actually had somewhere else to run to.

He ordered a second shot of scotch.

About the same time the glass was placed in front of him, someone he didn't expect took the chair beside him.

"Just a beer. Whatever's on tap," she said to the bartender, who nodded and slipped off.

"Hi Astrid," Peter said after a moment. "So you're the one they sent to babysit me."

"I don't say no to overtime. And I guess they thought I'd be used to it with how much time I spend with your father."

"You know, Walter would throw a fit if he heard you call him that."

She shrugged. "He'll get used to the idea."

Peter smiled briefly. "So you're saying you believe me?"

"Well, I don't know how you got here, but I have seen a lot of crazy stuff in my time working with Walter and Olivia, so maybe. What I do know is that you've been helping us since you got here, and that's what I'm going to trust."

The bartender placed a mug of dark beer in front of her.

"And can I get another for my friend?" she asked, nodding toward Peter.

"Sure. Just a sec."

Even though he knew it was just a figure of speech, Peter found himself with a lump in his throat at her use of that word. Friend. He'd always had people in his life he could call friends. Many of them were more like business contacts and acquaintances with ledgers of favors rendered and owed, but calling them friends had been a convenient shorthand. But at some point in the long hours and days he'd spent in a holding cell, he'd realized there was now no one in the world who would call him a friend.

When the bartender returned with Peter's beer, Astrid raised her glass in a wordless toast before bringing it to her lips.

She'd always been a lightweight, Peter recalled. Two beers were usually her limit. But then maybe this Astrid was different.

"Is Broyles gonna be okay with you drinking on the job?"

"He told me to keep an eye on you. He didn't specify how."

Peter stared at her for a long moment, trying to figure her out. "You really do believe me, don't you?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I really do. I can't imagine what it must be like to just be dropped into a world that doesn't remember you, where everyone thinks you're dead, where you've got nothing and nobody trusts you. And if I'm wrong about you, it's not like my opinion carries enough weight to do all that much damage."

"Well, I don't know about that, but thank you. You have no idea how much that means to me."

She looked him over. "I think I know the real reason you're helping us. I know it's not because you need our help."

"I do, though. Like you said, I just got dropped into a world that doesn't remember me; I can't work it out on my own, and it's not like there's anyone else I can turn to."

"But that's not the reason you're helping us, is it?"

He didn't answer. He took a slow swallow of his beer instead.

"I've seen the way you look at Olivia," Astrid explained quietly. "It breaks your heart that she avoids you. You're in love with her, aren't you?"

"My world and everyone in it are either in some parallel universe I can't get back to, or were erased from time." He swallowed hard before continuing. "The Olivia I'm in love with doesn't exist."

Astrid winced in sympathy at the pain seething under the surface of that statement. "Tell me about her."

He took another drink. "Where to start? The Olivia I knew was a brilliant, stubborn, dedicated FBI agent who'd made it through incredible difficulties in her life to become the person she was. She had a devotion to her friends, her work, the victims of the crimes she investigated, that boggled the mind. She would do anything for them, go to any lengths. She's not just so beautiful it's uncanny, she has a kind of...a mystery to her. Her eyes are deep enough to drown in. She has a strength and intensity that I can't even begin to describe, like she could stare into an abyss and make the abyss blink."

Astrid had been watching his expression closely. "You just perfectly described the Olivia I've worked with for years."

Peter shook his head sadly. "She's different. Your Olivia isn't as...undaunted as mine. The way she looks at me, it's like she's scared of me. My Olivia wouldn't act like that."

"You do freak her out a little, but I don't think it's for the reason you think it is."

He looked at her curiously. "What do you mean?"

"How much do you remember about the time between when you disappeared and when you turned up in Reiden Lake?"

"Not much," he admitted. "Flashes, feelings. Nothing that makes sense. Why?"

"Walter kept seeing you and hearing you in the lab. He thought he was going crazy. And Olivia saw you in her dreams."

"She saw me in her dreams?"

"Yeah. She made a sketch of you. Before you showed up in that lake, a ball of energy kept appearing around Olivia. One time it even touched her. If they haven't let you read the report, they're probably keeping it from you, which means I'd probably get in trouble for telling you this, but we're pretty sure that ball of energy was you."

He frowned, wrinkling his brow. "Me?"

"The last time it appeared, Olivia saw your face. You showed up in the lake literally a minute after that. I might just be Olivia and Walter's assistant, but I pay attention to things, I read the reports, and I'm pretty good at putting things together."

"I know. You always were."

"My point is," she continued, "sure I don't know as much as Walter about parallel dimensions and alternate timelines, but I do know that starting around the time you remember disappearing Olivia's been dreaming about you, and when you were wherever you were, whatever you were, you kept trying to get back to Olivia. _This _Olivia. If this isn't your world, if she isn't your Olivia, why would you have worked so hard to get back? And if you didn't come from here, why did she dream about you? If you weren't missing, why did she miss you?"

Peter couldn't answer.

"Her whole life Olivia's been looking for something. It's exactly like she was missing someone she couldn't remember seeing. As long as I've known her, she's never dated anyone for more than a few weeks, because it never felt like the right guy to her. I think that's why you scare her: because you do."

The first real smile he'd worn in days spread across his face. It was a comforting thought, actually, that these people were the same ones he'd known before, with the only difference being that they had not known him, that Walter just needed to get used to the idea of having a son, and Olivia really was _his _Olivia.

And Astrid was still his friend.

It wasn't surprising, when he thought about it, that she would be the first to accept him. She always had been the most tolerant and accommodating of any of them. How else to explain how she'd put up with Walter all this time?

It suddenly occurred to him that he didn't really know why she did it. He'd put up with Walter because he was his son, and he'd gradually grown to love him. Olivia worked in Fringe Division because of her drive—some would say obsession—with uncovering the truth. And Walter did it because of his love of science and intense desire to stay out of the institution. But what drove Astrid? What had led her to work with the FBI? He knew that Olivia had recruited her for Fringe Division because of the young Agent Farnsworth's cleverness, competence, and fortitude, but he had no idea why Astrid had accepted the job. There was a lot he didn't know about her: did she have family? If so, what did she tell them about her work? How did she remain so calm and so sane in spite of everything she'd seen and experienced?

"How do you put up with my father?" he inquired.

"I keep a stress ball in my desk. I pretend it's him."

Peter laughed. "Okay, so that brings me to my next question: _why _do you put up with my father? Of all the things you could be doing, why Fringe Division?"

"I guess because Olivia asked me to, and I owed her. Besides, Walter does kind of grow on you."

"Like a mold," Peter said cheerily. He gestured to the bartender for another beer. "Why did you owe Olivia?"

He asked not just because he was curious, but because sitting here in this bar talking to Astrid was the first time since he realized no one remembered him that he hadn't felt overwhelmingly lonely, and he didn't want it to end.

She was becoming the first friend he had in this new life.


End file.
